Vengeance, Absolution
by kasswrites
Summary: Paul is fuelled by rage when he makes Jesse disappear - rage because he wants Suze for himself. But who knows if he will still want her when she changes for the worse. Will the vengeful Paul Slater and the absolute Susannah Simon trade their ways?
1. Infatuation

_Hello, my beautiful readers._

_Here I am again - and there you are screaming at me and hitting me with books of great caliber, "STOP WRITING, KASSY! IT'S SO HORRIBLE!"_

_But oh well..._

_This is my first fic from Paul's pov, so it may be a bit rusty._

_I'm only planning to have two parts to this - three if i seem to not be able to shutup. But there will be a sequel, hopefully. In Suze's pov. Cause we all looove her._

_Anyway,_

_Your'e screaming at me once more, telling me to shutup._

_So I shall._

_Enjoy._

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Vengeance

Part One

_Infatuation_

"I'm _never_ going to be able to do it," she stated, finality entwining with her simple words. I shrugged non-committally – so she didn't get materialization the first time – I should have known she'd crack it. That stubbornness in her eyes was completely inextricable from the classic Suze Simon I was so infatuated with. I took the opportunity to stare at her for a moment, drinking in every detail of her appearance. She was angry – obviously – because she hadn't succeeded in materializing the very first time she attempted it. Our weekly shifting lessons, which I always anticipated with excitement, infuriated her to no end, which made anything negative aspect intensified. She despised being beneath me, in regards to power, and she let her frustration take over more often than not.

As if in one of my sordid fantasies, she was lounging on my bed, propped up by dark pillows, which made her white, creamy skin look paler than usual. I suppose my staring got to her after a while, because she looked discomfited suddenly. "What?" she asked, confusion obvious on her features.

It was at that moment that I leaned over, closing the space between our faces, and kissed her.

_What_? You can't blame _me_ for anything – I was only acting on impulse. A woman simply _cannot_ look that good and just _expect_ a man to not touch her. Her lips were softer than any I'd ever felt against mine, and my dreams certainly weren't giving her enough credit for the way she _tasted._ My arms greedily came to her waist, and wrapped around her small body, before I abruptly rolled her over, fuelled by passion, and pressed her down into the mattress of my bed. _Susannah Simon, beneath me, on my bed. What an achievement._ But then she seemed to gain her bearings again and turned her head from mine after just a few moments of bliss.

"Get off of me." she said in what I suppose she thought was an immensely convicting tone. Her words were tight and clipped, but they didn't invoke even the most infinitesimal flicker of emotion in my being. Her chest was rising and falling erratically, and I strongly doubted it was from the lack of air. I smiled – I couldn't help it – and claimed her lips again with my own. She tried to wrestle them away – apparently, I didn't have the right to kiss her.

But what did she know? I honestly did not understand her _unhealthy_ infatuation with that stupid, infuriating _corpse_ that lived in her bedroom! Didn't she find that weird anyway? I mean, he was _living_ in her bedroom. Or I guess living is too optimistic a term, seeing as he's technically _dead._ God, she wouldn't have even known if he was watching her while she got changed or something equally perfidious. Talk about creepy. But oh no, _Jesse_ wouldn't do _anything_ like that. Because "Jesse is _such_ a _gentleman_ and he respects me _so much_." Ugh, she was unremitting in telling me that, every single week. I was so sick of hearing it that I was genuinely considering exorcising him already, despite our agreement.

She tried pushing me away, but I held her fast. Having her body against mine so closely..._God_, it was driving me _insane!_ I could feel every single curve of her soft, feminine flesh against my own. But right now her body was hard; rigid with what I could only guess was something akin to frustration or annoyance. The rich heat she generated was intoxicating – she couldn't forcibly stop that, and so I basked in the warmth of the beautiful, previously invulnerable girl that I held in my arms so tightly. I deepened the kiss, my hands roaming her back.

And then, suddenly, as if she had finally come to her senses, she was kissing me back. The sudden passion in her kiss made my nerve endings _itch_ in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. The degree to which I had come was both bewildering and luxuriating – like a sudden, unexpected high. I had never, ever in my life expected the kind of ebullience she was presenting me with at that indescribable moment. I felt her relax in my arms, and I could almost fool myself into believing that she trusted me. It was like...sheer perfection.

Unlike any of the other girls I had taken an interest in, Suze had always seemed somehow untouchable to me. Like something on a higher shelf that I couldn't reach, and not just because of that stupid ghost she thought she loved.

But now that I was touching her, bringing her down to my level, she was finally, _finally_ accessible. If I dwindled down her perfection – that is to say, her loyalty to her corpse of a boyfriend – I could have her.

It was _exhilarating._

I had known from the start that I was anathema to her – she hated me with almost every fibre in her being. But within that hate generated need..._want_. She needed to feel – she obviously wasn't getting anything from _him_. I despised her then for being with him – he didn't even _use_ her! While all I wanted to do was break her down, build her up, and break her down all over again. I wanted to be driving into her with unhindered force. I wanted to wrap her in my arms and never, _ever_ let her go. I wanted to own her, possess her, and let everybody know that she belonged to me...

Except that she didn't.

And she would never be mine, as long as her precious _Jesse_ was around.

I've always wondered what it was with Suze – why did I want her so bad? How did she make me yearn for her, _pine_ for her so pathetically? How had she managed to reduce me so dramatically, and not even notice it? Sure, she was beautiful, but I'd definitely seen girls as beautiful as her before and not so much as batted an eyelid.

I'd convinced myself that I wanted her so badly because I'd been obsessed with what I couldn't have. It was the easiest answer to my incessant question about why I was so drawn to this girl. And that's all she was – a girl. She didn't have any right to stir up such strong, potent feelings inside me. She didn't have any right to make me scan the classroom I walked into in the morning, just to see how beautiful she looked that day. She didn't have any right to make me so infuriated and jealous of her stupid boyfriend! Yes, I admit it; I was jealous of him. Not in any way but one – I was jealous because he had her.

I hated what I had become sometimes, but not _one_ spark of that hate ever ignited her. I could _never_ hate her. But I couldn't stop feeling this way – she had me in her relentless, clutching grasp. And she didn't have one clue that she affected me so intensely.

I didn't even acknowledge those easy little sluts that continuouslyflung themselves at me, flicking their hair and pouting their lips. But Suze...Suze was in a whole different world. I had to work for it, for her approval, for her acknowledgement, and I loved the difficulty as much as I loved the chase. I loved the way her eyes would shine when she let her hostile guard down, allowing herself to admit that I'd said something funny, or genuinely kind. I loved the way she would smile to herself, off in her own world, sometimes. It really _truthfully_ hurt me when her eyes flashed angrily at me – a feeling I didn't let show, of course. If she knew how deeply in love with her I was, she would think of me as weak. She'd mock such deeply borne feelings; I could see it now. _"You don't know how to love, Paul."_ She would say, eyes and words cold.

I'd foolishly thought it was her unavailability – not just that; her blatant dislike of me – that made me crave her so intensely. But once I had her in my arms, my actions reciprocated at _long last,_ I didn't want to let her go. I wasn't chasing anymore – she was unmistakeably vulnerable. But this, as I immediately learned, was how I wanted it. She had nothing more to give me – platonically speaking, of course. There were _many_ things she could still give me physically, which I chose not to think about at that moment: I didn't want to..._intimidate_ her – but I still held that intense need for her, deep inside me. I never wanted to let go – it was as if she was my lifeline, and if I relinquished her again, I would wither and die.

Have you ever been walking somewhere and noticed the most perfect autumn leaf on the ground? One that had fallen and was so dry, you just _itched_ to hear it crunching under your feet? It was the best amongst all the other leaves, and you couldn't help but admire it. But did you really want to crush it? It would give you such satisfaction to hear it crumble beneath you, but it was so perfect. Or did its perfection lie in the fact that it would crush so well? Do you admire it? Or do you destroy it for the satisfaction?

It was as if I were pressing my foot down lightly, making the tiniest impression on the beautiful leaf. And it was so gratifying that I didn't want to think about what crushing it would be like.

But then I ruined it.

To put it simply, I'm a man, and she's a woman. I was just touching her the way a man _should_ touch a woman. The way I _needed_ to touch her. But as soon as my hand slipped up her shirt, she froze like I'd slapped her in the face.

I sighed – I had come _so close!_

Like salt to my bleeding wounds, she instantly jerked away from me, shock obvious in her emerald depths. A shaking hand came to her face as she sat up – to do what, I do not know – and she looked around frantically, like she had just woken up in an unfamiliar room.

"Oh my God!" she said in alarm, running a hand through her dark hair. "Oh my God!" her words adapted a hysterical tone, and the pitch of her voice was higher than anything I'd ever heard her emit. "What am I-" she still seemed very astonished by it all. And then she turned her accusatory gaze on me.

"Paul!" she screeched in outrage, as if I'd just, I don't know, physically hurt her or something. As if I could ever do that. The bitch had me freaking _whipped!_ I curled my lip at her ever-innocent act, as she stared at me with such conviction that caused the guilt to start scraping at my sides. I forced my gaze away from her reproachful glare and felt pure frustration consume me.

"God, Suze! Do _not_ freaking blame me!" I exclaimed heatedly, my temper flaring up while I avoided her eyes. Because I knew that if I so much as glanced into her beautiful emerald depths, I would fall to pieces. I ran a hand through my hair, and refused to acknowledge how hard it was shaking. She had built me up so high, and then thrown me down; revealing a cold, guiltless side of me that I never wanted her to see. It was _her_ fault.

"You're the one that kissed me!" she cried shrilly, making my eyes narrow into slits of disdain.

"You kissed me back." I accused quietly, stating the blatantly obvious. I wasn't surprised to see an expression of shock and hurt marring her beautiful features when I turned to face her again. "Oh, don't give me that look, Suze." I spat tiredly, "What's next? You gonna start _crying?" _I scorned, not able to justify or explain the words that escaped from my mouth, much less why I was saying them to somebody I loved so deeply. I guess I had been wrong before – I _could_ hate her.

Her expression turned to one of anger then, and she settled her mouth into a tight line that provoked me to roll my eyes.

She thought she felt anger, hate, pain?

She felt _nothing._

But she would.

I could make sure of that.

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_Reviews are loove (:_


	2. Mistakes

_Okay, so now I have these big, humongous plans for this story._

_Rather odd since before I started it, I wanted it to be a one-shot._

_Anyway, I do hope you enjoy reading._

_I know some people have been waiting a while._

_And to the people who didn't want another chapter, sorry. But I felt I needed to continue._

_Plus, originally it was to be in two parts - you can check in the chapter notes of the first chapter if you're unsure._

_I always seem to write huge chapter notes for this one, don't I?_

_Anyways, Jax, if you read this..._

_I sorta stole your lyrics layout._

_Heh. Sorry._

_Oh, one last thing._

_This chapter is dedicated to Joy (SarcasticJoy), who inspired me to write more._

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Vengeance

Part Two

_Mistakes_

Soundtrack - The Day The World Went Away (Nine Inch Nails)_  
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He showed up that night, of course. I didn't expect anything less from her _perfect, transcendent_ Jesse. She'd left instantly after our fight that afternoon, dishevelled and quite frankly, pissed off. She wasn't irritated by my actions though, I was sure. I mean, the way she kissed me back, it was so. . .

. . .unlikely. I'm sure that if I thought hard, I would be able to find a million other adjectives to embellish those few gratifying moments, when she was underneath me, perfectly vulnerable. But we'll just leave it there, I think. It was already exhausting me emotionally to look back over it.

"You're obsessed, Paul." She'd spat, as she walked from my door, the venom in her words striking me not unlike a snake bite would, "Obsessed with what you can't have."

_No,_ I wanted to say,_ I'm obsessed with you. With your beauty, your scent, your passion. I love you, Suze._

But I just glared with fake vehemence as she walked out that door, for what I knew would be the last time. I didn't even offer her a ride.

_Good one, Slater._

_You fucked _everything_ up._

Months of coaxing and coercing, gone.

Just like that.

I had taken it meticulously slow, trying to build the trust I now knew was never there. I hadn't made a move on her, hadn't _touched_ her until now – my self control had been stretching like a rubber band, straining more with every visit. But it had just. . .snapped today – it was completely out of my hands.

I stormed back into the house after watching her walk away, unintentionally blowing up a crystal vase as I passed by it. The water trickled down the cabinet as the flowers fell to the ground, unable to regain their previous position of dignity. The door slammed after me, causing various ornaments to rattle. The fact that Mark might come running to see what was happening was the last thought on my mind. It was _my_ fucking house!

Slamming the door as soon as I got into my bedroom, I realized that her indent was still obvious in the dark grey bedspread. It reminded me how painfully close I had come.

She'd just been here, _willingly_ kissing me with a passion too intense to describe, and I'd managed to screw it up just enough that she never would be again.

I strode absentmindedly to the adjoining bathroom adjacent to my bedroom and turned on the taps that adorned the large, white marble sink. Cupping my hands under the cool, rushing stream of water that spurted from the central tap, I splashed it onto my warm face, in an attempt to calm myself down. The red tinge that my cheeks had assumed slowly faded under the refreshing water, and my blurred thoughts adapted a _somewhat _sharper edge than before. I reached for a towel and hastily wiped the water from my face with it, before throwing it into the laundry hamper in the corner.

Looking up at the large gilt mirror that hung over my sink, I stared at the stranger that was my reflection. He stared back, unmoving.

His hair was dark brown and curly, his face tan and his light blue eyes were hard as ice. He had full, dark lips, good, even skin tone, and a wicked build underneath his Lacoste polo. He smiled as I did, revealing a mouth of perfectly straight, expensively-capped, white teeth.

_What, _exactly_,_ was wrong with him?

Oh, that's right. He wasn't dead.

Before I could grasp any realization of what I was doing, I lifted one curled fist to smash the glass. Destroying my reflection. The shards of mirror shattered to the floor, along with a smattering of deep red blood, cascading from the deep slashes in my knuckles. I glanced down at the pieces of glass; sharp and small. I could never put them back together again; never make the original picture. Too small to matter, the glass was still big enough to cut me.

I had given her the best of me. I had been kind, thoughtful, courteous. I had taught her the knowledge of what she was; so like me. I had provided comfort, knowledge, acceptance.

And _this_ is how she repays me?

She just threw it all in my face.

The anger rendered immobile for a split second, staring at the empty frame where the mirror once was. It was debilitating to think of what she had just ruined.

She had no right to refuse me! What was she? Some stupid little girl that enjoyed playing around with people's feelings. She was _nothing._

She was lucky I was offering her anything.

I examined the gashes in my fist with clinical detachment, pressing a stark white towel against the blood which was streaming from the wounds. These weren't pygmy sized cuts; I had cut myself deeper than ever intended.

Was it the convenience that made her so crazy about him? Was it because he could materialize into her room at all times of the night, just in case she was in the mood for a quick fuck?

_I_ could materialize into her room whenever I wanted. But no, I wasn't welcome there. _He_ was, just not me.

As if there was any difference between the two of us. What, she thinks he doesn't want her beneath him, completely vulnerable? She thinks he doesn't want to break her?

_So naive_.

The blood was seeping steadily into the white material now, staining it.

_Such_ a mistake.

With one action, it all went wrong.

That was, of course, when the object of my affection's affection showed up, furiously glaring at me. I looked up from the bloody towel I held, regarding him with a look of absolute nonchalance. I couldn't care less about him, or anything to do with him, to be honest.

Except for _her._

"And what, Mr. De Silva, do _you_ fucking want?" I asked, no bite evident in my calm tone of voice. He glared even more ferociously than before.

"You upset her." He said, flaring his nostrils. I found this extremely amusing, for some reason.

"That's funny." I laughed, injecting a fake mirth into my words, "Because I could have _sworn_ she wasn't all that upset when she was beneath me, on my bed, you know, having fun. . ." I trailed off meaningfully, my trademark smirk making its appearance.

He stamped his foot. No shit, he really did. Raising an accusatory finger to point at me, he roared, "You should not have kissed her!"

"Listen, de Silva." I growled exasperatedly from between gritted teeth, "I don't know if you _remember_ this, but I call the shots here. Whether I kiss her or not is _my_ decision, not yours." I finished, before tossing in an indifferent, "Or hers."

His eyes – which were black with anger by now – narrowed into slits. "I have promised her that you will not hurt her again." He snarled menacingly, making my smirk even more pronounced.

"Well, you won't exactly be around to make sure that promise stays unbroken, will you now, _Jesse?"_ I asked, remaining outwardly imperturbable. He stayed silent, simply glaring at me. Nonetheless, I didn't fail to notice the subtle change in his hostility. Shreds of worry and fear crept into his expression so slightly that I almost doubted it.

You think I felt pity for the bastard?

Fuck, no.

He'd gotten himself into this mess – he'd messed with _my_ girl. He'd kissed her countless times. He'd probably. . .touched her. He'd spoken to her in a way only a lover should. My jaw clenched ever so infinitesimally at each of these thoughts, effectively bringing a shield of hostility up to fend off the sympathy almost ready to coil in my stomach due to his pathetic feebleness.

I'd scrupulously planned _everything_ out, to my desires. _He_ was the one that fucked it all up, in all honesty.

I swaggered slowly over to him, a triumphant smirk quirking up one side of my mouth. "Oh, come on." I said matter-of-factly, not bothering to resist the overwhelming urge to roll my eyes, "You had to know this day would come." His hands balled into fists, like he was deliberating over whether he wanted to hit me or not.

"I love her." He said unexpectedly, simultaneously bowing his head and unclenching his fists in surrender. I smiled in a parody of sympathy, mocking his feelings.

"Uh-huh, so do I. But now your time is up." I patronized, smiling gleefully. And with that, I grabbed his shirt in one fist and shifted.

She knew.

She had to know it was me.

She's not _that_ stupid.

But if I was expecting to raise some sort of reaction from her the next day, I was sadly disappointed. To be honest, she didn't say anything to me at all. I mean, I knew silent treatment, where Suze Simon was concerned. But this. . .this was silence in a completely new, esoteric way.

I waited in the school parking lot that morning, wanting to catch the first glimpse of her that I could. I can't tell you why I did it – it was almost as if I expected her to be physically different. Little did I know.

When her stepbrother's car swerved into a parking spot, my heart jumped with anticipation. I bit my lip, staring intently at the Land Rover as if it held some kind of intensely captivating secret.

I blinked, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. I blinked again. She'd climbed out of the car a few moments earlier, her athletic form clad in a thick green sweater and old-looking, loose jeans. Her eyes were trained on the rough asphalt as if it held the secrets of the world. Her hair fell half-straight down her back, as if she hadn't bothered with it this morning. Her fringe hung over her eyes dejectedly. She nodded mutely at something her younger stepbrother said, her gaze never wavering from the ground.

A chance at her feet told me what was virtually impossible – she was wearing what looked like Aerosoles. Don't ask me how I know; I have a harebrained, distressing mother. I was at a loss – the Suze I knew wore designer heels every day. What was up with her?

My feet pounded the asphalt with quick succession as I caught up with her, falling into step beside the girl whose lover I had sent away from her the night before. She looked up briefly, but lowered her gaze again as she caught sight of who it was.

_What was going on here?_

I had been expecting her to walk straight up to me that morning, demanding a fight. I hadn't been expecting this. . .complete ignorance of my presence. With a furtive glance at me, she sped her steps up, exceeding my own stride.

"Suze. . ." I said rustily, stopping completely. What did I _want_ to say? An apology? Would my pride even _allow_ that?

But it didn't matter anyway. Because she just kept on walking.

As soon as I entered homeroom, my eyes scanned the room for her. Nothing unusual – it happened every day. What did not happen every day, was this aching silence she was currently contributing. When my eyes fixed on her, I realized she was sitting next her albino friend, staring out the window. Well, at least she was still sitting in the same seat, right?

The albino was prodding her, a concerned, motherly look on her face, but receiving no reaction. She seemed like she was concerned for Suze's wellbeing. I heard her murmur a "Suze..." before she noticed me. She glared at me so vehemently that I immediately averted my gaze to Suze's face instead. A glance told me she wore an expressionless mask. There was what appeared to be mild disbelief on her face. But looking closer, I noticed how deeply borne the pain and despair was.

I swallowed. Hard.

This was going all _wrong._

As soon as homeroom was dismissed, she collected her books robotically and walked slowly out the door, not even flinching as people knocked past her. She looked like a zombie.

My next few classes took what seemed like forever; my thoughts wouldn't stray from the hurt sadness written all over her face. I vaguely registered Mr. Walden talking about something to do with American presidents and Sister Ernestine droning on about Adam and Eve, between my frantic, hopeless musings.

And then, _finally,_ I was dismissed to lunch. I would get to see her again. Maybe I had just been exaggerating things this morning. . .

I walked slowly into the courtyard, looking around for her – it seemed to be a natural reflex nowadays, looking around for her as soon as I entered a new space. My eyes fell on the bench she usually sat at, and sure enough, there she was, staring out at nothing in particular. She almost reminded me of her older stepbrother; the one that seemed to have a suspicious problem with focusing on anything but sleep. I watched as she laughed half-heartedly at something that Adam guy said, but there was too much distress on her face to believe it to be genuine.

And then I saw something that chilled me to my very core. I stared inscrutably as a solitary tear escaped one of her shining emerald eyes, and rolled down her cheek, only to be brushed away instantly with a frantic, indiscriminate gesture. I froze with shock, fear and self-loathing. It was incapacitating to see such a strong, stubborn girl so weak. It was sin, pure and true.

I _wanted _obstinate, stubborn anger. It wouldn't have affected me as much as this vile vulnerability she was shrouded with. Maybe it was the tenacity that made me want to break her down. But if this was what was beneath her fierce shell of hostility, I was thrown off course.

I walked over to where she sat tentatively; still sort of expecting her to jump up and start beating on me like a maniac. It's not like she wasn't capable of it or anything. As soon as I took the seat next to her, she whipped her head around to gaze at me. She blinked mutely for a moment, a completely blank expression on her face, before rising slowly and walking away.

I sat there, forlorn and dejected, as her friends stared at me.

What had I _done?_

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_I'd listen to the words she'd say__, __but in her voice I heard decay. __T__he plastic face forced to portray;__all the insides left cold and gray__. T__here is a place that still remains__. __It eats the fear, it eats the pain.__The sweetest price she'll have to pay__ .__The day the whole world went away._

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_

I got rid of him, but she _still_ didn't want me.

I had just _destroyed_ the girl I love.

_Fuck._

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_Articulate little Paulie, isn't he?_

_Reviews are like cookies._

_And honestly, how do you beat cookies?_


	3. Autopilot

_Hey people._

_**PLEASE READ!**_

_So, as you know, if you read Gossip Girl, Carmel style (my newest fic; check it out :D) I've been having horrible writers block and some personal stuff going on too. So, anyway...sorry about my extended absence._

_Now, the plan with this story, is it's going to be two different stories, kinda. Vengeance is going to be from Paul's POV and absolution will be from Suze's. I know, it sounds kinda confuzing, but it really isnt. lol. So this chapter will be Absoloution, part one, and whenever we skip back to Paulie (which will be a few chapters away) It will be Vengeance, part three (Cause there's already a part one and two.)_

_Also, depending what happens next chapter, **I might change this to M rated.** So just keep a look out for it :)_

_Okie, here we go..._

Soundtrack - Swan Song (A Fine Frenzy)

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Absolution

Part One

_Autopilot._

The pure white sand sifted through my fingers softly as I lifted my hand, letting them scatter back to the other grains. They landed in a pile slightly higher than the rest, the smooth surface unrepairably wrecked until the tide came to wash it all away again.

A thunder cloud rumbled in the not-too-distant sky, warning me not to stay on the beach for too much longer, in case I desired to be soaked. As I placed my hand back onto the ground behind me, I closed my eyes, choosing to see things that weren't happening at that moment in time.

_"Yeah, well, news flash, Jesse. I've been sneaking out at night for a long time, and my mom's never said boo about it before. She knows I can take care of myself." Okay, a lie, but hey, how was he to know? _

_"Can you?" Jesse lifted a black eyebrow dubiously. I couldn't help noticing that there was a raised scar sliced through the middle of that eyebrow, like someone had taken a swipe at Jesse's face once with a knife. I sort of understood the feeling. Especially when he let out a chuckle, and said, "I don't think so, querida. Not in this case." I held up both my hands. _

_"Okay. Number one, don't call me stuff in Spanish. Number two, you don't even know where I'm going, so I suggest you just get off my back." _

My mouth couldn't decide between a smile and a grimace as I remembered the first time he'd ever called me _querida_. I hadn't known that night – how could I? - that _querida_ would be a word I would experience withdrawals from. I couldn't believe how stubborn I was against Jesse – I'd give anything for him to be here now, when at first, I wanted him gone from my room and my life. It's funny how much a year can change things, huh?

I mean, if you hadn't seen me for a year, you simply wouldn't know me. Long gone were the 'sparkling' green eyes, replaced with a dull, cold stare that was focussed on the ground more often than not. My feet dragged, instead of stepping. My shoulders hunched as I entered my room, petrified of what I knew I was going to find; nothing. I wasn't the socialite I one was, either; my mother was even getting worried about me becoming 'reclusive', as she tried to explain. I never did find out the outcome to that conversation – I was so used to tuning things out by then that my ears felt blocked up. Cee Cee and Adam had finally got together a few months after my altercation of state; we say hi to each other occasionally when we pass each other in the hall, like those few months of friendship had never taken place. My room was the most difficult place to be; everything there was tinged red with a memory of him. The window seat, I couldn't bear to look at, let alone sit on. I felt, sometimes, like I was stuck in a world separate to everybody else, where things moved by at a fraction of the speed. My world, coloured with him, had no room for friends, family, college applications. The past was the only place I could live in; and living in the past was better than not living at all.

Or so I told myself.

_"Well. . . ." The dark-eyed gaze bore into mine. "Good-bye, Susannah." _

_"Yeah," I said. "See you around." _

_But Jesse didn't move. Instead, he did something I completely was not expecting. He reached one hand out and touched my face. _

_"Susannah," he said. His dark eyes-each one containing a tiny star of white where my bedroom light reflected off them-bore into mine. "Susannah, I-" _

_Only I never did find out what Jesse was going to say next, because the door to my bedroom suddenly swung open. _

_"Pardon me for interrupting," Paul Slater said. _

My eyes flew open automatically as the nostalgic happiness drained away from the little day-dream I was having. Paul. I tried to breathe steadily as I heard another, nearer clap of thunder reverberate through my ears.

I rose slowly from where I had been sitting on the cool white sand, just as the first droplets of rain spattered onto the grains. My eyes watched the ocean as it rolled in toward the shore, tumultuous and dangerous. The dark, ominous sky promised a storm. A storm that I was sure would be a new beginning for me.

I climbed into my car slowly, shutting the door behind me, in a debilitating, dazed stupor. I didn't register how I'd got to my car in the first place, but that was somewhat of a regular occurrence for me lately. Glimpses and memories flittered and licked at my sanity disorientingly, before raining down on my somewhat complacent state of mind like a fierce torrent, making it difficult to breathe. I stared at the clear windscreen for a moment before clenching my fists in a fit of rage and bringing them down on the steering wheel with all the strength I possessed. A scream of anguish was torn from my throat as I let my head drop, still attacking the leather steering wheel with my clenched fists.

The agonizing screams didn't take long to turn into sobs. They started in the pit of my gut, wrenching their way out of my body with an excruciating pain. My throat was raw and scratchy from all the screaming, but I couldn't find it in myself to care about something so frivolous. Physical pain was nothing to me anymore; I was numb.

"Go back!" I screamed to nobody in particular; just needing to release the words from my lips, "I want him back!" I wiped furiously at the tears streaming down my cheeks, but it seemed the faster I wiped them away, they rolled back over my cheeks again. I released an unintelligible scream of pain from my scratchy throat, pressing my cold hands to it in some form of condolence. I was in a state of such potent emotion that I couldn't bring myself to care about anything but the fierce, passionate hate coursing through my veins.

Breathing through choked sobs, I straightened up again, plummeting my hand down the side of the seat, looking for my car keys. I retrieved them after a moment of searching and haphazardly started the spluttering engine, before squaring my shoulders and pushing my foot down on the accelerator.

The road I followed was familiar; my visits had been recurring, so much that I knew every curve and unexpected twist that the road decided to take. The memories of when I had come here were blurred by time. They were back before it all happened.

_Autopilot:_

_A cognitive state in which a person acts without self-awareness of their actions._

It was almost as instantly as I pulled away from the beach that I was forced to turn the windscreen wipers on – the rain was pelting down with such rapid succession that I was squinting to see through it, trying my best to follow the road properly.

When I pulled up in his driveway, I didn't even stop to question my actions. I obviously wasn't thinking clearly. No, scratch that – I don't think I was thinking at all. The moment I stepped from the car, the rain showered down on me severely, freezing me to my very core. I slammed the car door as hard as I could with my shaking arms, before walking briskly to the door, the gravel crunching under my feet. I was completely soaked by now; even my underwear, I realised with a wince, was clinging to me, completely drenched.

The doorbell didn't seem right somehow.

Instead, I rapped sharply on the deep mahogany wood, three times.

He answered the door with a smile on his face, as if he had just been laughing about something particularly hilarious. But as soon as his eyes took in the sight of me, it faded from his face to be replaced with a frown of confusion.

"Suze?"

Just the one word. Like he was trying to confirm something – perhaps that I was genuinely the girl he used to know. I didn't know why or how. It could have been for revenge that I came here; it could have been for anything. But violent, exhilarating adrenaline was fiercely pumping through my veins now, and I sure as hell wasn't going to hinder it. I felt alive for the first time, since Jesse had been here.

There. I said it.

His eyes were darting all over my face and body, trying to make sense of why I would be standing there willingly. Or even unwillingly, if you think about it – I had nothing for him to take anymore; except maybe my life. He had taken everything that I had ever posessed – every last _shred_ of my happiness. But I don't think Paul would stoop so low as to want to kill me. No, he wasn't that meticulous.

I swallowed, still breathing deeply.

"Uh, were you here to talk to gramps about something shifter-y? Because he's not h-"

"You...exorcised him." I cut him off quietly, serenely. My voice was barely louder than a whisper. It was simplicity that shrouded my words. His face crumpled with confusion which I suspected was because of the delayed reaction.

"You _exorcised_ him!" I repeated, clenching my teeth together, trying to hide the pain from him. Because if there's one thing that Paul Slater loves, it's vulnerability. And I wasn't planning on giving him any kind of gratification whatsoever, as long as I lived. His face was hesitant, as if he didn't know what to do. I was shaking all over, and I couldn't stop it. Whether it was from the cold, or from the pent-up rage I was releasing, I never knew.

"You knew I loved him, but you just didn't care. You just didn't want me to be happy. YOU DON'T EVEN CARE!" I shouted, feeling the hurt and sorrow bubbling to the surface, consuming me. I shook with rage, clenching my fists so hard that I almost drew blood.

"Suze, please. That's all over now." My eyes widened at his cluelessness.

"It's over?" I laughed incredulously. "It's over! You know what's over, Paul? MY LIFE!" I gasped a breath. "You were obsessed with me, and you were stupid and- and now he's GONE! All because of you!" I shouted, rage flooding my veins with an unexpected ferocity. I staggered towards him arbitrarily, my breath shuddering in my throat. My face crumpled, in a fruitless attempt to hinder the tears.

"I HATE YOU!" I raised a fist to strike him in the chest. "I HATE YOU!" I screamed, pouring every ounce of pain and hurt that had built up over the past year into my cries. He seemed shocked at all of this, for some reason. There was confusion written all over his face. "I hate everything about you. You're selfish, you're cruel, and you don't care about anything except for yourself. You're _sick_. You had an obsession, Paul, and you destroyed me, just because you wanted me to be with you. Well guess what?" I paused, for effect, taking in the look of Paul, who seemed rather disconcerted, "I'll never degrade myself so much as to be _near_ you again." I said venomously, regarding him with a look of utter distaste and hatred.

"Suze. I-"

"Don't you dare say my name, ever again. You don't have the right." I hissed.

"Look." He said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. What else can I say? I just-"

"You just _nothing,_ Paul."

His eyes suddenly narrowed upon those words, bringing his disdain and anger to the surface. I guess he was sick of being the weak one.

"Even if I didn't send him away, what would you have done?" he asked, almost laughing. "You think you're so intuitive, but you don't _see_ anything, Suze. You're living up there, in your world of make believe, and guess what?" He lowered his face to mine, ceasing his roaring shouts. "It's not real!"

"Shut UP!" I screamed as loud as I could, competing with him, as to who could yell the loudest. The anger and hatred coiling in the pit of my stomach was unbearable. I pushed him furiously, square in the chest. He hit the wall with a pathetic grunt. My throat was raw from screaming, and my voice was cutting out from the strain, but I still went on. "JUST SHUT UP!" I screamed once again, before grasping the sides of his head and bringing it down to meet mine, with such a fierce intensity that it almost destroyed me.


	4. Betrayal

_**H****eyy everybody :)**_

_First of all, **thankyou so much for all your sweet reviews!** I really love getting feedback on my writing; it makes my day (isn't that just a little bit sad? haha)_

_In particular, ticklemecutie, Kelly Jackson, ThisIsNotHere, dori-tori, CassieBookWorm8 && Priya. (Everybody who reviewed last chapter. I really must get into the habit of putting this up)_

_I think I got this up kind of quickly. Well, for me, anyway. I've decided to keep this T rated, but I **wouldn't advise **that you read it at school or whatever. Haha, I always seem to giggle in the library or whatever & everyone's like, "Kassy. What are you looking at?"_

_Anyway...*blushes* here's the most intimate writing you're probably ever going to get from me, lol._

_Ergh._

_Soundtrack - I Hate Everything About You (Three Days Grace)

* * *

_

Absolution

Part Two

_Betrayal._

The _abandon_ and unadulterated _passion_ that fuelled the kiss was exhilarating. And then, to my utmost shock, Paul was reciprocating my bewildering, insane actions. Logic, pride, misery and bitterness washed away instantly, and all I was left with was this violent, severe passion streaming through my veins.

I kissed him deeply, with all the fervour I possessed. It was frantic and haphazard and rough – exactly what my blood was singing for. My nails dug into the skin at the back of his neck, just wanting to cause pain; to hurt him like he'd hurt me. His mouth was just as eager on mine as my own was on his, intrusive and brutal. My senses were completely jarred, and all I knew was if he didn't keep touching me like this, it would all come back – the grief, the worthlessness, the self-hate. His hands clasped around my waist, grasping me so hard that I gasped sharply, his lips still on mine. The fire inside me blazed, and I was burning with a dangerous combination of fierce hate and desire. It was like dying and he was holding onto me like I was about to run away again.

But I wasn't.

My hands moved to the back of his head and made tight fists in his hair, before I lifted one leg up to curl around his own. I pressed myself against him so forcefully that it hurt. I was blaming him for this. I was blaming him for everything. I tried to convince myself that the dampness on my face was purely rain, but I knew that they were tears, releasing my emotions for the first time in what felt like forever.

A low, sensual moan was ripped from the base of my throat as his lips travelled down my neck, grazing the taut flesh with his teeth. I craved his touch, but I hated him at the same time. The emotions swirling through my mind were crazed and unintelligible, failing to take the form of words. It was so wrong that somehow it was right; I felt like I was on fire.

My recalcitrant, unknowing hands suddenly slipped from his shoulders, running greedily over the smooth planes of his chest. Suddenly frustrated with the dark button-down that was hindering my need to feel his bare skin on mine, I ripped the buttons apart with one unco-ordinated motion, grazing his chest with enough force to leave red marks where my fingernails had been.

His hands came up under my legs and hoisted me up, before he turned around and pressed me tightly against the wall. Such a combination of pleasure and pain...it was intoxicating. I wrapped my legs tightly around his hips, pressing myself into him. A guttural sound reverberated through me from Paul's body, and I shivered with anticipation and fear. His hands halted their previous activity of holding me up, and slid smoothly; painstakingly slowly, up my sides. His fingers continued their fluid path, skimming lightly over my collarbone, wreaking sinful havoc on my sensitive skin.

My eyelids fluttered open a few moments later, to see Paul scrutinising my face with a mildly inquisitive expression on his own. I placed my hands on his warm torso, feeling him shiver from my cold, frigid skin. We were such polar opposites – I was cold; he was warm. I was pale; he was tan. In the logical part of my brain, I knew how wrong this was. But somehow, it was also the only thing that would make things right.

I smoothed my hands up his chest slowly, bringing them down over his arms, to remove the shirt from his body. Such a slow, calm action was driving me crazy, my anger unsated and seething in my chest. He aided me with his hands, dragging it off when my hands had reached their limit. The inquisitive look hadn't left his face, to my disconcertion.

His fingers came to the buttons to my shirt, and he undid each one frenetically, looking faintly like a child unwrapping a long-deserved Christmas present. Eventually, he fell to the last. When he parted my shirt, his eyes ran over my exposed skin animalistically, as he let out a lascivious groan.

Breathing heavily, he brought his scorching hands to my waist, grazing my sides with a slowness that infuriated me. I felt like I was falling again – it was too slow, too intimate. I didn't want it like that. I wanted hate and fear; intensity that was enough to destroy him. But then suddenly, he hoisted me up with his hands once more, bringing me forward, before slamming me back against the wall. His lips came to my collarbone, placing open-mouthed kisses down to my chest in a trail that was completely new to both of us. My fingers shot straight to his hair, and I clamped my legs around him tighter, eliciting a gratifying gasp from lips that were delighting my skin.

Now _this_ was more like it.

His lips plunged to between my breasts, kissing the pale, susceptible skin there. I gasped sharply, pressing into him more ardently than before. "Oh, God!" I swore, my chest rising and falling in a shuddering pattern completely unknown to me. My head fell, and I grazed his earlobe with my teeth briefly, before letting my cold, clammy forehead rest in the slope of his neck.

His lips suddenly pulled away, much to my chagrin, leaving me wanting so much more. "Take me upstairs." I whispered against his skin, not wanting to meet his eyes.

"Suze, I don't-" I snapped my head up to look at him on those words, an incredulous expression on my face. Something in my stomach dropped and the energy that had been charging me subsided to leave me languid and almost lethargic.

"What?" I asked, annoyance creeping into my tone. He sighed heavily, jamming his eyes shut before opening them again slowly to study my face. After a while, he tried again.

"I don't think..." he trailed off, looking to the side.

"What, Paul? You don't think _what?"_ I asked, trying to patronize him so that his rage would re-appear. What was his _problem?_

"You're not...you're not thinking properly..." he mumbled, sounding completely unlike the Paul Slater I knew. I blinked incredulously at his words. Was he serious?

"Let go of me." I said in clipped tones, my lips settling into a tight line. He released his hands as suddenly as if I'd caught fire.

I let my teeth grind together as the most hatred I'd ever felt toward _anything_ bubbled to the surface of my mood. He couldn't just _do_ this; grant me this moment, this relief from my depression, and then rip it away from me so suddenly.

I strode halfway to the door, before turning back to see Paul standing in the same spot, staring at where I had been pressed up against the wall.

"Is this some kind of joke?" I asked, dry humour corrupting my intended casual tone. He simply shook his head sadly. "Not thinking properly." I murmured, _"'Not thinking properly.'_ You know why I'm not thinking properly, Paul?" I patronized. He turned to look at me again, his eyes getting stuck somewhere around my chest. I haphazardly did my buttons back up, glaring at him with the most vehemence I could muster.

"I'm not thinking properly, because you exorcised the man I loved!" I roared, seeing him flinch at the sheer volume of my words. He narrowed his eyes a moment later, furious at me again.

"You didn't _love_ him, Suze." He spat, getting angry, just like I wanted, "You were just...fucking..._obsessed._ You don't know what love is. It's-" he started.

_Oh, God. This is too good._

I laughed spitefully. "Love? You don't know how to love, Paul." I said, eyes and words cold. He gritted his teeth as if he'd anticipated this, as if he knew my lines perfectly.

I staged realization, widening my eyes for effect. "Oh my God. Paul, are you- are you in _love_ with me?" I asked slowly, curling my fingers in front of my mouth innocently. His silence confirmed what I already knew. Of course, Paul Slater was not _in love_ with me. That's only what he wanted to think. It was obsession he held for me; just what he'd tried to convince me I felt for Jesse.

"Oh my God..." I laughed, mocking him. I slowly walked back to where he was standing, a piteous smirk on my face. "Oh, Paul. That's _so_ sweet." I crooned. I grazed his warm cheek with the knucle of my first finger, in a parody of affection. "I mean, I should probably stop leading you on, if it's going to hurt this little...crush you have on me. But really, it's cute." I laughed, making him feel as small as I possibly could.

His hand caught my wrist in a split second, and when he raised his head again, his expression was murderous."You miserable bitch." He swore venomously, looking at me with utter distaste as he flung my hand - and myself - away from him, "As if anyone could love a whore like you." I blinked.

"A whore, Paul?" I said with a humorous smile. "How can I be a whore, when i'm a virgin?" I enquired boredly, resisting the urge to say 'you idiot'. His smirk was triumphant.

"So you don't think you're a _whore_ for acting like you just did?" He asked, accentuating the word for maximum hurt. His eyes took on that predatory nature I was unfortunately all to familiar with. Narrowing my gaze, I decided to remain silent. He closed the short distance between us by walking over to me slowly, that infuriating smirk never fading. "Take me upstairs, Paul." He mimicked, doing a breathy, embarrassing impression of me. He stroked a strand of my hair with mock affection. "Oh, I hate you, Paul. So I'll turn up on your doorstep in the pouring rain to yell at you. I hate you so much, because you exorcised my dead boyfriend. But I _still_ want to fuck you." He laughed. I slapped him hard on the face, clenching my jaw.

"Don't you _dare_ make jokes about something as twisted as this."

He instantly grasped my wrist again, before dragging me, forcefully, to the living room entrance. His expression was as dark as the sky, which was visible through the glass panels above his front door. I stumbled along after him, pulling futilely at the bond his large hand held around my small wrist. He pushed me abruptly down onto a wide cream, velvet couch so I landed with the air knocked from my lungs, and kneeled menacingly over me, an animalistic glint in his eyes.

And then the torrid passion that had been fuelling me started slowly, but surely, coursing through my veins again. I felt so..._energized;_ as if I had just been electrically charged somehow.

It seemed Paul Slater didn't have time in his life for something as frivolous as buttons – this time, he just ripped my shirt back open, before rapidly running his hands over my stomach and back, hunger obvious in his gaze. I slid the shirt off my shoulders, when I had gained the most infinitesimal amount of logic again, before throwing it to the ground. His large hands smoothed up my spine, and I instinctively arched it, as they found what they were seeking; the clasp of my bra. I wrapped my legs, once more, around his hot waist, feeling his intimidation pressing against my thigh. I relished in the sensations making my body feel alive; his fingers, clenched and claw-like, running down my sides; his weight on top of me, promising me exactly what I needed.

When his hands unlocked the clasp of my black bra, he groaned once again. He pulled it from my body hurriedly, the hunger in his gaze intensifying tenfold. His breathing, I realized, was even more ragged than my own. I closed my eyes, trying to control the intense lust building in my core. But then he threw more coal in the fire, his fingers sinking into my soft, sensitive flesh. My breathing sped up to match his as I dug my fingernails into my palms, needing pain to accommodate such pleasure.

He ran his hands down my torso, causing a passionate slew to escape my mouth. The white-hot lust overtook the rage, and now I was trembling with a completely different anticipation.

I arched my back, our spasmodic breathing the only thing reaching my ears. In some part of my mind, I registered the pelting sound of the rain, but it didn't seem to matter. Anything that wasn't me, or him, in this moment of frenzied passion, just...didn't exist. The house was hauntingly quiet, echoing our cries back to us.

Oh, my God...

My fingers travelled down his chest, to his abdomen, as my mouth worked assiduously against his.

* * *

_Every time we lie awake__, __after every hit we take__. E__very feeling that I get__, b__ut I haven__'__t missed you yet.__Every roommate kept awake__, __by every sigh and scream we make__. __All the feelings that I get__, b__ut I still __don__'__t miss you yet.

* * *

_

My hands reached the button of his jeans while his fingers crept leisurely down my legs, ceasing from their previous pastime. They ventured under my skirt, grazing the sides of my still-wet underwear barely, before retracing their ascending path. Before my fingers had the chance to undo the button to his jeans, he straightened up, straddling me. A small whimper that I _really_ wish he hadn't heard escaped my mouth at his sudden deprivation of heat, and I opened my eyes again after so long of screwing them shut with pleasure.

* * *

_Only when I stop to think about you, I know...Only when you stop to think about me, do you know; I hate everything about you. Why do I love you? You hate everything about me; why do you love me?

* * *

_

The thought that I was betraying Jesse didn't cross my mind; it branded my every thought with such guilt and despair that I was unsure this was worth the short moments of forgetting. I made my last attempt at refusal by pushing weakly at his chest as he removed the last of each of our clothes.

But then, with one motion, it was all irreversibly done.

...And I was finished with fighting.

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_Sorry if it feels like you just got cockblocked. Hahaa._

_I think we're going back to Pauline next chapter, soo be on the look out._

_Review fast and I'll update fast!_


	5. Make Believe

_Holy moley, that was fast. A little more than two weeks, huh?_

_But I was a little sad last chapter :c_

_6 reviews._

_Can we double that this chapter?_

_&& then i'll update C:_

_

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_

_Well I sleep with you__, __but you dream of him. __And pretend every touch of my hand is his. _

_You lead me on,__ and say it's real__. But __I can tell by your eyes__ w__hat you truly feel._

_

* * *

_

Fucking you isn't pleasurable anymore.

It's as if I'm not even fucking _you _anymore_._ I'm fucking a completely different person. A shell – a hollowed out husk of the girl who was once known as Susannah Simon.

I'm not going to refer to this arrangement as making love, seeing as that term is effectively erased from my mind whenever I'm inside you. It's nothing like what we do. Making love requires some kind of romantic emotion from each person. You hold your emotions inside. They're not even the right ones.

You _should_ moan; scream. Arch your back as you climax. You should respond as I kiss you. Or you should at least fight me; tell me you don't want it anymore. But you don't. You just lay there, features contorted into pain like you can't take it anymore. Your fingernails scratch me. You whimper occasionally.

I'm not allowed to say anything. No noise. You made it blatantly clear as soon as that first fuck – the only one that bore some semblance of consensus and passion – was over. It was harder for you to make believe it was him when I went on about how I loved you, wasn't it? About how beautiful you are; how soft your skin is. Because no matter how much I want you, you still don't want me. I'm _still_ the other guy.

* * *

_I tuck you in__, a__fter you drink. __I take advantage__ o__f this opportunity. _

_But I lay awake,__ t__hinking of her. __And you just put your hands on me, as you have before._

_

* * *

_

Was it him that made you so stubborn before? Was it him that made you so passionate about everything you did? That made you love your friends, your family? Was it him that made me want you underneath me, around me?

It had to be.

Because as soon as he left that room of yours, it all washed away. You're blank now; unresponsive to pleasure. You don't talk to your friends anymore – at least, for all I know. It's harder to keep tabs on your daily habits without school. You've moved out of your parent's house, excuses flying around like wasps. "They don't love me." You've said, "They always fight." I don't think you ever expected me to believe that; you just felt the necessity to lie. You asked if you could move in here, to my refusal. Why? Because this is nothing more than an arrangement. You nodded mutely, the way you do most things nowadays.

You drink yourself into oblivion more nights than not; occasionally crashing here if completely necessary. Admittedly, fucking you is more fun when you're drunk. Not passed-out drunk, but just over the edge. You giggle, you talk. You're not an empty body.

I requested that you stay at your apartment after your little binges after that night when you moaned his name. It's too hard when you're not aware that I'm the one on top of you. At least when you're sober, you're in pain. You know it's me – it's harder to fool yourself.

It might not only be me you've been fucking for the last two years. For all I know, you could be off with somebody else the nights you're not with me. But I've ceased to care about technicalities like that. I just hope that if you are, he's actually getting some response from you, unlike me.

We both love somebody exclusive of each other. You love Jesse. I know that – you tell me enough times. You say that you never wanted to denounce him. But then, that's a little too late, don't you think, green eyes?

I'm not in love with you – you have to know that. I don't feel one shred of affection for you. Your body is beautiful and almost enjoyable to use, but it's lost my fascination. You're nothing more than a mindless fuck to me. I might be contrite for saying this if the circumstances were different, but _of course_ you don't love me. We're equal. You lost the man you loved just as I lost the woman I did.

* * *

_I am yours__ a__nd you are mine, __j__ust as we go on pretending tonight. __We both know__ t__his is make believe. _

_But we'll both fake it;__ p__retend we'll make it. __Make it as we have__, w__ith a past lover._

_

* * *

_

You're so fragile nowadays. I could snap you like a twig if I pleased to do so, but you're too pathetic for me to draw much pleasure from that. You struggle with life, as if it's always taking you under with waves of hurt and depression.

But there's always something that keeps me coming back, isn't there? Something that makes me open the door to you when you turn up, never looking at me. Maybe I still feel something for you – maybe the memories of how badly I wanted you are still etched into my mind. After all, you look almost the same. Same chestnut hair, same glittering emeralds. Your skin is as pale as ever, and you've lost enough that I can see your ribs protruding through your creamy skin when I undress you. When I enquire about this you tell me you don't have much of an appetite anymore.

If that glorious day, two years ago now, when you gave yourself over to me with that excruciating passion in your system was a release from it all, don't you need another release now? Don't you want to break out of this rut? It must be painful for you, being with the man your lover despised above all else.

* * *

_Close your eyes__ a__nd drift fast asleep, __a__s I pleasure you__ w__ith my company. __My eyes are fake__ b__ecause I'm staying awake__. _

_How can I sleep dreaming of her with you next to me?_

_

* * *

_

You never really achieved anything with school – you majored in psychology, but I have yet to see any kind of job happening with that qualification. Being cut off from your parents after that horrible fight must have been hard; but I don't see the necessity of that barmaid job you took up, to pay the rent on your little apartment. I've offered you money, but you refused. Pride or not, you still don't want anything from me. It would be as if you were paying me for _this,_ as you put it, gesturing to your naked form.

I know the sort of men that regular at that bar – the sort of men, which, if I still cared, I would not allow you to be around. The revealing clothes you don earn you more tips, but don't you think it'd be less often you got sexually harassed if you wore normal clothes? You try to convince me that you don't care – you can't even feel anymore.

Don't _I _fucking know it?

Is there no other way? When he's around, you're happy, with such a pure essence for life that it's almost painful for me to degrade you. Does he need to be around for you to be the girl I love? Does you being with Jesse make me love you? But when he's there, I'm always the other guy – I don't have a chance.

Would I rather have you to myself, in this reality, or be fighting for a girl I actually want? It's a difficult question to answer, one that I've struggled with for almost two years. Maybe I chose the answer I did because there's that tiny sliver of hope, deep down, that you might end up with me. That the old Susannah Simon will be the girl I'm with.

I want you to be the old Suze Simon, the one that I loved.

I want you to be happy.

I'd still love you if you were.

I don't tell you these things, of course. But I do tell you one thing; the truth.

It's the only thing I know that will make you the old Susannah Simon again, even if you're not with me.

I never exorcised your boyfriend.

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_Review?_

_(:_


	6. Flight

_Okay, it's been forever since i've posted anything, I know. I'm sorry for being such a slack writer._

_It took forever to find a copy of the book._

_I don't own anything to do with Suze, Paul or Jesse...or anybody else I didn't make up._

_And I don't own the Bridges of Madison County._

_If I did, I wouldn't have to walk to school in the rain._

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Absolution

Chapter Three

_Flight._

I took in a big gulp of air as the plane started moving inexorably in an upward direction. I'd always hated enduring take-off, but I was here, subjecting myself to it anyway. I could feel beads of sweat collecting on my forehead as my shaking fingers nervously bit into the armrests. My whole body was starting to shake and my insides felt like they were at sea, which was more than a little ironic.

But just as soon as it had started, the rocking motion of take-off stopped. My body relaxed instantly, and I held two fingers up to the base of my throat to feel my heart hammering away at a steady pace. I closed my eyes and took another deep breath – this one shakier than the last. I reminded myself, once more, that I was enduring this for an inviolably good cause. The forty-something, unkempt looking lady sitting in the aisle across from me gave me a warm smile and asked if I was okay. _Was_ I okay? It was kind of difficult to figure out lately.

The flight felt perpetual; I must have underestimated fifteen hours, even if almost everybody slept most of them away. I lay in my seat for the most part, blinking up at the ceiling of the plane, wondering if my head would ever shut up with its constant thoughts.

"_Suze. I just...I need to tell you something." His voice was shaky, as if the words didn't want to surface themselves. "And I want you to promise you won't freak out...okay?"_

My back was complaining about my being in the same position for too long and not for the first time, I wondered whether this whole thing was a good idea. I tried twisting to the side, to crack the vertebrae in my back, but that wasn't really helping at all. I sighed. I guess I would just have to endure the pain for the next few hours.

_As if this flight could seem any longer,_ I thought with a distinct bitterness. I reached into my bag and pulled out the nail file I had stored in a little inside pocket. As I was filing my nails into ovals – which was taking a little work after months of neglect – the air hostess sitting in the next row started snoring loudly. When I looked down at my hand again, the white of my fingernail had been completely filed away in anger. I sighed and slipped the file back into my bag; I guess I shouldn't have underestimated the power of God's wit.

_In the past few months, I had grown more and more entranced by the ocean water. It was always constant, and so serene. I could just let myself be while I watched it come and go._

"_I didn't – I mean, I never actually...exorcised him." If all Paul would be giving me was word salad, I'd never get past this conversation. _

"_Ethan?" I murmured vaguely, referring to the latest ghost that had been causing havoc. I was still staring out the huge window of his bedroom to the ice-blue serenity of the ocean._

"_Jesse."_

Just about everybody was waking up again as I started drifting off to sleep, having finally made peace with the memories playing on loop in my mind. I gave up on what was now a lost cause and pulled a book from my bag: _The Bridges of Madison County._ I turned to the page I had marked when they had called for the boarding of the plane and began reading where I'd left off.

_Taking her hand, he walked through the back door toward the truck. He opened the driver's door, put his foot on the running board, then stepped off it and held her again for several minutes. Neither of them spoke; they simply stood there, sending, receiving, imprinting the feel of each on the other, indelibly._

_For the last time, he let her go and stepped into the truck, sitting there with the door open. Tears running down his cheeks. Tears running down her cheeks. Slowly he pulled the door shut, hinges creaking. Harry was reluctant to start, as usual, but she could hear his boot hitting the accelerator, and the old truck eventually relented. _

_He shifted into reverse and sat there with the clutch in. First serious, then with a little grin, pointing toward the lane. "The road, you know. I'll be in southeast India next month. Want a card from there?"_

_She couldn't speak but said no with a shake of her head. That would be too much for Richard to find in the mailbox. She knew Robert understood. He nodded._

_He moved into the lane and down it. Francesca kept wiping her eyes, trying to see, the sunlight making strange prisms from her tears. As she has done the first night they met, she hurried to the head of the lane and watched the old pick-up bounce along. At the end of it, the truck stopped, the driver's door swung open and he stepped out onto the running board. He could see her a hundred yards back, looking small from this distance._

_He stood there, with Harry turning over impatiently in the heat, and stared. Neither of them moved; they had already said goodbye. They just looked – the Iowa farm wife and the creature at the end of his evolutionary branch, one of the last cowboys. For thirty seconds he stood there, his photographer's eyes missing nothing, making their own image that he would never lose._

_He closed the door, ground the gears, and was crying again as he turned left on the country road toward Winterset. He looked back just before a grove of trees on the Northwest edge of the farm would block his view and saw her sitting cross-legged in the dust where the lane began, her head in her hands. _

I had to blink away the tears that were gathering at the edges of my eyes, trying to seep down onto my cheeks and wash away my calm. I wondered how Jesse had ever thought it was a funny book. In my mind, I was transported back to that summer, when I'd been headstrong and happier, trying to protect him from his crazy ex-fiancee.

Big mistake.

As much as I tried to block it out, A mental image of Jesse on my window seat, laughing quietly so as not to disturb me while I slept, claimed dominance over my mind. My heart quickened and my breathing started to shake. I shook my head in an attempt to clear it and put the book away.

Why was it that Jesse was haunting me even worse when he wasn't actually _haunting_ me?

I had given up on the little memories that I used to call on, before I had started this sordid affair with Paul. It was beginning to get worse and worse every time an ebullient memory played out in my mind, to the point of experiencing physical pain.

They say that when somebody you love disappears from your life, your heart breaks. But It wasn't just my heart. I hurt all over my body. It was a trap for my mind, body and soul whenever I thought about him, and I couldn't seem to see the light above, or even attempt to crawl out. The memories of him were too painful to be regular now; my mind had tried to bury them in an attempt to make me heal and forget. I only remembered certain little things, like my sixteenth summer, and the scar through his eyebrow. I was shocked and emptied of emotion when Paul mentioned an encounter involving a party at my house in junior year where he had gotten into a fight with Jesse, because for the life of me, I couldn't remember anything like that happening.

I checked my watch for something to do.

Three hours.

_The blood seemed to freeze in my veins as my heart sped up; two completely contrasted reactions that shouldn't have been taking place at the same time. I turned my head to see exactly the same colour I'd just been staring at; cold, ice-blue. It was his eyes that dragged me back into reality. _

"_Don't joke." My voice wavered, lacking the desired conviction. "Not about this. Not now." I turned my head to stare at the sea again for a while, before gaining my bearings and sitting up properly. I began retrieving my clothes from the side of the bed, contorting myself to put them on again. As if there were anything he hadn't seen._

"_Suze. Will you look at me?" My eyes were fixated on the sea again. It was so consistent; wave comes in, wave draws away...wave comes in, wave draws away...wave comes..."Susannah."_

"_Enough, Paul. I can't handle this today." I imagine at one point, I would have articulated these words with a snappy harshness to convey their depth. But not now. Nowadays, my speech was monotonic on its rare occasion._

_It took me over a week to believe him._

I wondered why the rest of the people on the plane were coming to the same place as I was. I started sifting through them, judging by appearance, giving them reasons to be on the plane. That one with the bald head was meeting with clients, because he worked for a huge law-firm. He was cheating on his wife with his secretary, who was half his age. The little dark woman was visiting family she hadn't seen for fourteen years, because she'd gone to America to marry the love of her life. The old man was simply travelling because he could; he'd got his retirement payout and decided he'd see the world.

Ninety minutes.

"_So what, it was _all_ a trick?" I shrieked, "Is _this_ what you wanted? What, was I supposed to be so desperate, when you sent him to...wherever you did, that I'd want _you_?"_

"_Yes and no." He seemed to take my emotional cries as actual questions, and he answered them accordingly. "I mean, it was all planned out from the start. I'd heard about your shifter potential-" I distinctly said 'Mediator' in my head, but that was where it stayed. "So I thought I'd do some reconnaissance. I sent him to Carmel when I knew you'd be moving there. There was a lot of guesswork involved." My stomach was taking its time to twist inside out, drop and flutter with a million butterflies._

"_So you sent him to me. To-what, to spy on me?" he looked uneasy._

"_I guess you could call it that. He reported back to me with what he'd found. I have to admit, he kept the...romantic," he spat out the word "aspect of your relationship quiet. I got quite a shock when I first met you." _

"_But...why? Why did he...I mean, what was he getting out of it?" It surprised me how calm my voice sounded._

"_Why would I need to give him anything? I told you, Suze. We control ghosts. I could have exorcised him with a snap of my fingers." I sighed, forcing myself not to think of what he was talking about. "Besides, there was a pretty girl in it, wasn't there? A pretty girl whose bedroom he was welcome in. To do whatever he wished..." My stomach churned upon his words. Thinking of Jesse like this...it was making me feel violently ill._

"_What about when _we_ met? Was that...was everything planned?" he scratched his neck in an awkward way._

"_He...well, he reported back to me one week that you were getting a job at Pebble Beach. I asked my parents if we could go there." his voice was a miserable drone. _

"_So...was any of it...sincere?" I asked, feeling weaker by the second, "Or was I a complete fool to think he...felt anything toward me?" the words were hard to spit out, granted the person I was saying them to. I was holding my tears at bay, but I knew they were standing at the ready. _

"_Oh, I don't doubt that. He loved you." he said with an eye roll._

"_You say loved." I stated simply. "But...but you didn't exorcise him, right? So what? Where is he? Why hasn't he come back to me?"_

"_He didn't come back...because, well, I told him if he did, then, uh, bad things would happen." I really didn't want to hear about what Paul had planned if Jesse had broken his rules. I closed my eyes tightly, nodding for him to continue. "He's gone off to somewhere in Spain. He went back to see if he could find any of his descendants." _

_It took me quite a few moments to piece what Paul had said together and find the fault in his last sentence._

"_But...why? Why would he want to find them? I mean, what's the _use_ in that? It's not like they can see him unless they're mediators."_

"_Well, not exactly."_

_What an idiot. Why was he being an idiot?_

"_But normal people can't just _see_ people who are dead, Pau-"_

_My jaw slackened at exactly the same time as my heart skipped a beat. I shot him a questioning look._

"_I..." he hesitated."I might have agreed...to, uh, give him his life back. As part of the deal."_

"Passengers, please fasten your seatbelts. We are now arriving in Barcelona, Spain."

* * *

_I'll update if you review. _

_Promise._


	7. Author's note

_Hey people._

_I'm **so** sorry this isn't a chapter - I hope you didn't get excited or anything._

_This is just a little author note to say that I've actually edited the previous chapters - not much, but a bit._

_I would really love if you read them - at least 'flight', which has a few important changes._

_It's just gonna make the story run smoother :)_

_Thanks and expect a new chapter very soon!_


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